


In Sickness As In Health

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Established Relationship, Hallucinations, M/M, NURSE!Mycroft, NURSE!Sherlock, Sexy Times, Sickness, coincidence? or plotting?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:37:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both John and Greg are hit with the same illness at the same time and it's down to the Holmes brothers to look after them and nurse them back to health. </p><p>Is this just a coincidence or a plot to destroy the brothers' hearts?</p><p> </p><p>Author Notes: Must stress that this is an Alternate Universe, time frame from after Hounds (When Mycroft released Moriarty) and before Reinbach</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Good Night Out.

 

 

_**A GOOD NIGHT OUT** _

 

 

 

"Where are you going?" Sherlock's tone had a hint of the childish whine that he used when he wanted to wrap John around his little finger. Most of the time it would have worked, but not that night. 

 

"Out with Greg." John answered, not looking at Sherlock while he wrapped his warm coat around himself. There was a frosty chill in the air and John was adamant that he would not become ill. "Us simple-minded folk need a ranting partner." Then John did turn to face Sherlock and totally wished he never. That pout did things to his stomach that he never thought possible. 

 

"Rant to me." Sherlock whined once more. "I'll make it worth your while." The eye's battered quickly, the pout was in place; it was text book 'come to bed' and John had almost given up. Almost. 

 

"How can I rant to you about you," John smirked and walked over, placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's lips and stroked those sharp cheek bones. "Just keep the bed warm. I'll make sure to have a shot of whiskey before I come home." 

 

Sherlock dropped the pout and his eyes brightened a bit at that. He knew how frisky John became after just one shot of whiskey. "I'll keep the bed warm." John had laughed as he watched Sherlock rush up stairs to their now joint bedroom. Then he had left, the smile was still on his face when he shut the door to 221 and headed off to his local to meet Greg. 

 

***

 

Greg was putting his coat on, ready to meet John. It was his 'Boyfriends Anonymous' night that Greg became to call it. Mycroft understood that is was a night in which his Greg met with John to rant about the so called difficult brothers. If Mycroft was honest with himself, he didn't like the idea. "I would much prefer you to remain in doors and under our sheets," he complained, yet again, as he did every week. 

 

"You know, as good and inviting as that sounds love, I still need an outlet. You Holmes brothers are bloody hard work." Greg turned and kissed Mycroft's lips. "I'll be back before midnight, likely to be drunk." Greg winked and had left to meet John and all Mycroft could do was swallow hard. Greg was as horney as a bloody teenager when under the influence and that was a damn good reason not to put him on a lock down. That and the thought that Greg would not really appreciate being locked in their apartment. Mycroft discarded his clothes and climbed into bed and waited for Greg's return. 

 

***

 

The pub was quiet, just how the boys liked it and they both laughed at each other's weekly anecdotes.

 

 "Then he blames me for disrupting the process." John explained through small gaps in his giggling. "I mean really; who leaves a man's genitals next to a cucumber, in the fridge, to assess the time it takes to decompose." 

 

Greg laughed loudly, swayed slightly in his seat and wiped away a stray tear. "Dear god!" He had slurred, clearly he was drunk, or there about, but then, so was John. "And here's me thinking Mycroft's explanation of how to rightly torture a terrorist to extract information was the highlight!"

 

John had giggled his annoyingly feminine laugh again and used his hand to single the only bar-man working. John had thought he was new; he'd never seen the man before and he and Greg come here once a week. "Two shots a' whiskey mate," John slurred then turned to Greg, not taking much notice of how their drinks were poured. "He really did that as pillow talk!?"

 

"Yup," Greg nodded, a hand reached for his shot without looking, John doing the same. "Beat that next week mate." He winked then downed the shot in one and watched John do the same. 

 

"Yugh, I'll not get used to tha' but the outcome .. Well, the married n's try to out do us." John slurred and slid from the seat. 

 

Greg enjoyed these nights to an extent. They helped a lot that he could talk to someone close to him about his lover and it helped avoid him from exploding in Mycroft's face. But the fact that the alcohol made John slack in the tongue and not so ashamed made him feel a little queasy. He did not need to know that Sherlock was a screamer thank you very much.   

 

Both Greg and John got in separate taxis to join their lovers in bed and both men began feeling queasy and too hot as the journey home began.


	2. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Greg return home after their drinking; Greg treats Mycroft but John has a bad night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times!! 
> 
> Hallucinations

 

__

__

_**Coming Home**_

__

__

Greg stumbled through the door of his home; at least he hoped it was his home. All the houses looked the same, not quite the isolation Greg expected when he first moved in with Mycroft. It was a comfortable place, the homely feel of it all was Greg's fault. He had insisted on personalising the place a bit more; it was bland and felt like just a drifting place for someone to sleep when he first saw this place. Greg liked what it became, it showed a comfortable couple, still in their honey-moon period after three years. The memories made Greg smile and he swayed straight for the bedroom.

 

 "Oh Mycroft." He sang a little too loud and busted through the bedroom door. "I'm home honey-pie." Greg giggled, then groaned before slumping down onto the mattress. "Give me some lovin'" 

 

_

 

Mycroft watched with slight amusement when Greg had stumbled through the bedroom door. A quick look told Mycroft that Greg was obviously intoxicated but there was something else. There was evidence of a light sweat on his lovers forhead and the way he stumbled onto the bed gave Mycroft a start. For some reason alarm bells rang in his brain; Greg never reacting like this before, he had good balance, even after a drink. 

 

By the time Greg's lips were against his, he had stopped listening to the alarms and sunk into the warmth that was his Greg. it had taken all of five minutes before Greg had ripped away his own clothing and pulled away the quilt from a warm Mycroft.

 

 "Hmm, my baby got all ready for me." Greg had breathed against his lips, straddling himself over Mycroft hips and begand grinding against him. A qucik exploration of Greg's bare chest told Mycroft that Greg was too hot, even at that moment.

 

"You're burning up my dear Greg." Mycroft whispered, but he was enjoying Greg's grinding a bit too much to really stop it all. HIs hands had rested against Greg's hips to still him. "Keep that up and I won't last." Mycroft grinned and leaned up to kiss Greg's lips once more, one hind sliding down to prepare Greg just the way he liked it. 

 

 The lube was too far away for Mycroft's reach so he had made sure that Greg was relaxed enough before sliding in one finger. The reaction stirred Mycroft's already hard cock. The noises greg gave out in dry penitration was Mycroft's idea of heaven, especially when he was drunk.

 

"Myc .. Now. Need .." Greg was panting now, Mycroft was three fingers deep into Greg's tight muscle. The pleading was enough and he had let his fingers slide out. He placed a hand on the base of his cock and let Greg guide himself down onto him. 

 

 Grunts, groans and moans filled the home that night; mycroft found that he couldn't take his eyes of his lover. He catalogued Greg's pale skin, sweat dripping down from his hair line and the too harsh panting that was coming from Greg's parted lips. Mycroft was too busy to understand the alarm bells that began screaching at his subconcious and he had climaxed along with Greg. 

 

 When Greg groaned, slid off and slumped down onto his his stomach and quickly fell into a deep sleep beside a still post-climatic lover, Mycroft suddenly found himself thinking that there was deffinatly something wrong with Greg. His breathing seemed a little off and his skin was still hot to the touch, he made a mental note to keep an eye on him while he slept, making that one more night that Mycroft did not sleep.

 

***

 

When John trampled into 221B that night, he instantly began tearing at his clothes. He felt too hot and his skin had began to itch. He put it down to acting like a horny teenager but then again, he didn't feel up to anything like that. He was down to his boxers when he saw something move in the corner of his eye, near the window of the living room. He stood stock still, his head turned slowly towards the movement and he froze instantly, his breathing began to accelerate as the offending object slid towards him. 

 

 He had no idea how the hell it had gotten into this flat; maybe Sherlock was using it as an experiment. Trust Sherlcok to allow a giant fucking snake into the flat. with all his observations, he didn't realise that John was petrified of fucking snakes. 

 

As the snake came closer, John backed up against the wall, never taking his eyes away. He was sweating like he had ran a marathon, his skin felt like it was boiling but he was shivering. His medical side noted a high fever and he logically knows that it normally came with hallucinations, but at that moment, John really couldn't find that true. 

 

 He felt something against his shoulders and turned his head to the offending feeling. At least three other snakes where sliding down the wall and were headed right for him. He had let out an almighty scream, ran for his chair and jumped on it. He was petrified and his head began snapping around the room, filled with over fifty snakes, big and small. Trust Sherlock to bring these in for experiments the twat!!

-

Sherlock heard John come in that night, he heard the sounds of clothes being thrown everywhere and he smiled lightly, pulled the quilt away from him and waited. What he was not expecting was the high pitched and terrified scream that had him running from his room stark naked and straight into the living room.

 

He was met with a shocking sight. John was standing on his chair, his breathing rapid and unatural, his skin a sickingly white and soaked with sweat, his face a picture of fear while he looked this way and that, looking at nothing. 

 

 "John?" Sherlock moved quickly, standing in front of John. He saw that his eyes were glazed over and lost their vibrant blue. Instead they had become dull and grey; whatever John was seeing it was scaring the living shit out of the man. Sherlock would never admit it but the sight of his brave soilder resulted to a nervous and scared wreck had terrified him. "John!?" He tried again and finally John looked at him, his breath shaking and panicked.

 

 "Sn .. Snakes. You ... Snakes!!" John slurred, he was drunk and tried to speak through a panic attack. 

 

 "John. There's no snakes." Sherlock answered, bringing forward a hand to  touch at John's skin. It was hot and sticky. John was ill and Sherlock was at a complete loss. "Focus. Think. Come on!" Sherlock was pleading now, he hated seeing his John like this. It was the first time and hopefully the last time he ever saw John in such a state.

 

 It took a few moments for John to calm himself and breath, finally coming back to himself. "Sick." He mumbled and slumped forward into Sherlock's open arms and he had carried the sick man into bed. He wasn't really sure on how to cope with fevers but he tried. 

 

 He got John into the bed, putting a thin blanket over him and then went to get himself a chair to put by the bedside. He refused to sleep; he will watch John with sharp eyes and be close by for when he woke. This was not how a night out ends, he was supposed come home happy, calm and they would rumple up the sheets together. But tonight ... Tonight something was deffinatly wrong.


	3. Throughout The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg's having a bad night.

_**Throughout The Night** _

__

__

  
Mycroft rested his back against the headboard of the bed, his gaze flicking over to Greg just once more and sighed. Greg was still sweating and mumbled here and there in his sleep. His breath was rapid and harsh; nothing like the soft snores Greg makes when in a deep sleep. He had been watching Greg sleep for almost an hour and that was long enough for Mycroft to become out of his depth.

 

 He had slid from the bed quietly, still keeping a watchfull eye on his lover while he wrapped his silk robe around himself. He gave one last worried glance to Greg before leaving the room and dialed a number he knew off by heart; it was picked up after the fourth ring.

 

 "I'm sorry for the lateness of the night Doctor Lang, but your pressence is urgently needed at my home." Mycroft did not need to give in to pleasentries; people knew when to say 'how high' when Mycroft ordered them to jup. It was one of the many perks at being in his hight of controlable power. He hung up when the doctor afirmed his attendence in little over half an hour, which gave Mycroft more time to sit by his fevered lover and keep a watchful eye on him until the best doctor (second to Watson of course) would make his appearance.

 

***

 

Doctor Lang turned up five minuets before his estimated time of avrival and was ushered quickly into the bedroom. With one look at the pale man, whithering and moaning terribly in sleep, it would be clear to any idiot why he was asked to come quickly. He moved around Greg with practiced hands; taking his temperature, checking his pupils and also making sure Greg could be aroused into awareness. After his checks he turned to Mycroft, his face tired and grim. 

 "Looks like a case of influenza sir. You'll need to keep him cool and make sure to wake him every hour to hydrate him." The doctor placed down a simple thermometer and some tablets on the bedside table. "Check his temperature everytime you wake him, and make sure he takes a tablet every four hours. I know I don't need to tell you this, but if he gets any worse, he will need medical attention." 

 

 Mycroft nodded; his relief is clear in his eyes. He must have thoujght the worst, anyone might do in these situations, the doctor thought to himself. He left Mycroft with a calming glance and a light squeaze to his shoulder. 

 

***

 

 Mycroft followed the doctor's instructions to the latter. It was clear that Mycroft was no goos when someone is ill around him. He never was, he didn't like it. Ever since his mother came down with a serious illness after his father had passed away, he has never liked being around very sick people. But this was his Greg, there was no way he could leave his side. 

 

 it was almost time for Greg to be woken again when he heard the chime of his lover's phone. Being a curious man, Mycroft went and retrieved it, only to find a startling message from his younger brother.

 

_No cases. John's ill. SH._

_  
_Trust Sherlock to be blunt, Mycroft thought and sighed before replying.

 

_I'm afraid Greg is hit with a bout of influenza, brother. He shall not be working for some time yet - Mycroft._

_  
_It took a little longer for Sherlock's reply, this time it really did set Mycroft's heart thudding with fresh panic. Not that he would ever admit that, not even to himself.

 

_We must talk. Urgent. 221B as soon as you are able. SH._

_  
_there was nothing left to add, clearyly Sherlock saw some sort of connection with this, but Mycroft's logic refused to let him see past the coincidence of it all. People get sick all the time, it is most probable that both Greg and John become sick at the same time.

 

***

 

**_It had been placed. The silver fox                                                                                                                                        has been given less as per your                                                                                                                                  instructions, the hedghog should                                                                                                                             be arriving in Hell shortly boss._ **

****

**_  
_**The email was quick and straight to the point, its tracks hidden perfectly and the young man that had read it smirked lightly as he replied back.

 

_**BB should be quite busy now,                                                                                                                                  stage two should be in motion.                                                                                                                                     Let the world burn and watch                                                                                                                                         the hearts turn to ash.** _


	4. Holmes vs Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries to get Mycroft to listen just as John takes another bad turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been awesome! I didn't think this story would become so popular after just a few days xxx
> 
> It's a WIP and will update as much as I am able. 
> 
> <3 Thank you all for staying with me <3

_ **Holmes vs Holmes** _

 

 

 

That next morning showed Greg looking a little better; there was a hint of colour in his cheeks and his temperature was staying stable, even if it was still a little high. Mycroft was smuthering him with care and assistance, fluffing up his pillows, checking on him every so often, bringing home work and remaining by the bed side. It got to the point where Greg had had enough of Mycroft's insistant care and had told him to go see Sherlock and get it over with while he slept. It was the only way he could manage some piece while he tried to recuporate, the last thing he needed was a suffocating Holmes at his bedside.

 

-

 

That was really why Mycroft strolled in through teh door of 221B that morning, looking as tired as Sherlock probably felt. Mycroft scanned his younger brother; curled in on himself in his armchair, body turned slightly as to keep the bedroom in his vision, his head tilted a little more towards the open bedroom door and only paying Mycroft half of the attention needed. It was clear that Sherlock was worried, but also keeping an eye on something. Mycroft didn't know what it was until he saw a chubby little man leave the bedroom and, with a sturn glare from Sherlock, kept the door open.

 

 "Flu. He'll need rest." the chubby man with the doctor's bag said to Sherlock and then he court his younger brother's eyes at that, but still he refused to see the connection.

 

Mycroft waited until the chubby doctor left before he spoke. "Everyone gets ill Sherlock, you know that. It's winter and both Doctor Watson and Greg have been running around in all sorts of weather. It is highly probable that they would become ill." Mycroft still managed to keep his tone bored and light with just a hint of his dominace, which actually surprised him considering his heart was hammering and some small voice was whispering at him to take notice. He refused. Obviously.

 

"You don't think that this is connected? Some sort of chemical attack?" Sherlock's voice was surprisingly calm, considering his protective posture; even so far away from the bedroom, Sherlock was keeping an eye on John.  "Both of our ... Companions have suddenly been overcome with a bed ridden sickness and you don't see the connection?"

 

"Sherlock, you are obsess ..."

 

"Don't!" Sherlock snarled, instantly stopping Mycroft in his tracks. He looked to his younger brother and sighed, moving to take a seat in John's chair. "I am not obbsessed with Moriarty mycroft. I am not the one who released him." Mycroft's eyebrows raised in shock and Sherlock snorted, managing to finally look at his older brother. "Don't pretend that I didn't know mycroft, that is beneath you. You must understand that he has means and now a motive for an attack that would ..."

 

But sherlock never did finish that as there was an almighty frightful yell coming from the bedroom and Sherlock was off there like a shot, Mycroft managed to folow closely behind, but after taken in the state of John, he decided it best he took his leave and he managed to rush home in record time and remained by Greg's bedside. He will keep an eye on his lover until he is better and he refuses to admit that it has anything to do with what Sherlock had told him. But never the less, he still texted orders and called in favours. Moriarty must be tracked and kept under surveillance.

 

 

***

 

After that yell, Sherlock's heart had almost broken from his chest as he rushed to his John's side. He never noticed that Mycroft had follwed him then rushed off, he didn't register the noise from outside or the soft patter of feet from Mrs Hudson leaving after Mycroft. He never took notice of anything except his John, whom had sat up against the bed, his skin a sinkingly grey colour and covered with little goose-pimples despite him being drenched in sweat. Sherlock moved closer and noticed that his bodt was shaking terrible, his arms tense and his hands fisted against the sheet. his face was a look of pure terror and his eyes had glazed over once more. His breathing was quick and on the verge of a dangerous panic attack before Sherlock finally acted.

 

he reached out his hands, rested them against John's hot skin and looked over him carefully. "John?" He reached a hand to touch John's cheek and watched with a breaking heart at how he flinched before slowly coming back to reality. "It's alright John. I'm here. You're safe."

 

John was beginning to shake even more now as Sherlock watched John return to the waking world. He had mumbled something about a nightmare and needed the bathroom before being violently sick aggainst their shared bed. He had openly sobbed and appologised while Sherlock worked John from the sheets and practically carried him down the stairs and to the couch.

 

"Rest." He had told him before moving to pack up the sheets before an idea hit him. He rushed back to his old bedroom; the one he was now using and his lab and leaving teh kitchen table free from his equipment, and picked up a dish and a scaple. He'll take a sample of John's stomach contents and even his blood while he sleeps. Sherlock had a strange feeling that this was not flu but something more dangerous, something to keep him busy while ... What? He did not know but he intended to find out.

 

***

 

The results of the sick and the blood turned up nothing, not even flu enzimes so John does not have flu. But there was nothing he could find to pin point exactly what was wrong with John, and this infuriated Sherlock beyond words. He through the vial of blood against the wall and stormed up from his chair and was pacing the room when he had heard John's terrified yelling from the living room.

 

Once again Sherlock was at his side and trying to pin John back against the couch, trying to calm him down.

 

"Moriarty!!" John  yelled and fought against Sherlock, obviously he had seen something that was not there and this broke Sherlock a little more. "Off!! I'll kill you!! Don't touch me!! Scum!!" John was beyond reach and that was the only reason that Sherlock did what he did. He managed to reach for the first aid kit beneath the couch while he had effectivly kept John pinned, he knew there was a sedative in there; John had kept at least some for when Sherlock refused to sleep for days. He had soemhow managed to find the sedative and inject John with it while not causing harm to John himself.

 

 Sherlock on the other hand was a different story; John had managed to claw, nip and even bit at any part of Sherlock he could reach, and his skin was a map of scratches, red lines and little dots of blood. Sherlock moved back once John had settled and slipped into his chair to think, the last time he had seen John so terrified was when they had been drugged back at baskerville.

 

***

 

 

  
_"I did as you asked,"_ Said the terrified voice over the phone. _"We had a deal. You promised to release me."_  


 

**"And I shall, Doctor Lang. You have in deed done well. I have a call waiting. Goodbye."**

Before the call had been switched, the young man smiled as he heard the start of a terrified scream. That was always enough to make his day.

  
**"You'd had better have done as I asked."** He scowled down the phone.

 

 

_"Of course. I have never let you down before have I boss."_

 

There was a slight tremour in this man's voice, a hint of fear and also his breath was rapidly increasing. It was weird, the young man had never heard anyone have a heart attack before.

**"Goodbye Stamford, Hell awaits you."**

He couldn't help but snicker softly as he hung up the phone and turned towards the screens inn front of him.

 

  
**"Phase two complete."** He spoke aloud to no one. He would argue that he speaking with the curly haired man that he was watching on the monitor screens in front of him. It was completely stupid how this man had bent over his pet and watched him every second. He sighed and flickered his eyes to the other screen, noticing that BB was doing exactly the same with his pet. But that is not what he was actually interested in right now. The results had been astonoshing. **"Now boys, I can begin my market while you two fret and worry and become insanely attached to idiodic people who are not worth the effort to even breath."** He hissed at the screens, his eyes turned back to the curly haird man. **"And you my dear, you will watch as your heart burns. I did warn you but NOOOO, you had to get in my way. Again. Spoilt my plans. Well, now you'll see that I never bluff Sherlock. I always get what I want."**  



	5. Epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock realises something and now Mycroft just has to listen to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so amazing!! :D
> 
> Must say thank you to the many readers and the kudos xxx

 

_**Epiphany** _

__

__

__

  
Sherlock was sat in his chair, his eyes watched John's back as he got his much needed rest. He was waiting for any sign that John was distressed, he still didn't like the fact that John was couch-bound. They should be running through this together. If it had been another person who suddenly became ill without warning then Sherlock would be bouncing ides off of John. It helped him to think. As it was, John was asleep, his skin was still a deathly shade of grey and sticky with sweat, his breathing was no better either and Sherlock cannot work this out. 

 

A few hours ago he had received a call from the hospital; Mike Stamford had died from a heart attack. Sherlock found this slightly puzzling as it was only a meer more hours ago that Stamford checked over John. Sherlock was possitive then that someone had made John ill on purpose. Someone had made both John and greg ill purposly but why? That was the question Sherlock was getting annoyed with.

 

 "It could be an attack. Something personal against Mycroft. But why would they attack you as well as Greg?" Sherlock spoke to John's sleeping form; he hoped that it would somehow help with the illusion of bouncing back ideas. "If it was against Mycroft then I would be ill also. For some reason, Mycroft's enemies think that by getting to me that he will comply." Sherlock imagined John's smirk at that. "Yes John, not everyone knows of how much that won't work. Sometimes people become desperate." Sherlock sighed and laid back. He hoped John would not wake and he hoped he would get as much rest as needed; Sherlock needs to go to his mind palace for a while and think. 

 

***

 

It was uncertain how long Sherlock remained there, time is not of importance in his mind palace, but when he returned to reality, he did so with a bump. He had relived his thought processes of the past few days and realised that he had never seen John so scared since Baskerville. This caused him to retreat back to that time in the government lab-base place; the place where one man had tried to harvest a gas like substance to induce a fear responce. The symptoms of the drugged individuals fitted with the symptoms John was showing now; hallucinations, extreme fear and uncontrolable sweatting. Along with other things but then that just means that someone has managed to harvest the drug and somehow slip it to both greg and John. For what reasons, Sherlock was still unsure, but he was more than possitive that this is the reason why John and Greg are dangerously ill. Sherlock reached for his phone and fired a text off to his brother, a summons of the highest priority. Of course, it would have to be at Mycroft's club; the flat may be bugged and he did not want the people behind this to realise Sherlock was onto something.

 

he stood from his chair and made his way over to John, placing  a flat palm against John's bare back. He still felt hot, but not as badly as before which could mean that the drug is getting out of his system. Sherlock can't help but feel relieved by that thought. "I'll be as quick as I can." Sherlock whispered and placed the softest of kisses to John's head. John mumbled something and turned to Sherlock's touch but still remained slightly alseep. "I'll pick up some soup and flu medication. We don't have any around. I'll get Mrs Hudson to pop in on you." Sherlock finished and headed downstairs and making sure to give instructions to his lanlord before leaving and heading off to his older brother's club. 

 

***

 

"Will you be alright Greg dear?" Mycroft asked the tenth time while putting his coat on to meet his insufferable baby brother.

 

"Yes, Mycroft. There is a nanny on hand if I get worse." Greg's voice still sounded grated and he was still bed-bound. The night before had been the worst night yet.

 

Greg had woken up with a gasp and had stumbled from the bed. His cheeks were damp from tears and his breath was reaching a panic attack. He was in search mode; his eyes glancing everywhere around the room, his hands out stretched in front of him and his mumbling was what scared Mycroft the most. he was becoming hysterical, crying for medics, forensics; anyone who would hear him. His eyes focused on an empty point in the rug by the window and he had let out the most anguished and terrified scream Mycroft had ever heard coming from his mouth. It was heartbreaking and all he could do was watch as Greg stumbled over to the window and fell to his knees. He had sounded so heart broken and Mycroft couldn't move until he had heard Greg whisper his name.

 "I'm here" Mycroft had told him, once he could push himself from the bed and over to his lover. He had cradled him  into awareness and they both returned to bed without a word. Greg had slept close to Mycroft that night, clining onto him desperatly. It was that sight that forced Mycroft's hand; because of his demanding job and duties to his younger brother, he had made sure that there would be someone around to keep an eye on greg just in case he had another turn for the worse. 

 

"Don't forget the pills, they seem to be keeping your fevor down."  _But not helping with nightmares_ was left hanging between them as Mycroft walked over to place a longing and gentle kiss to Greg's lips. A silent promise that he would never leave him as long as he could help it, and with that Mycroft had set off. 

 

***

 

To say that Sherlock was upset was an understatement. Mycroft was not around when he showed and he was forced to wait for fifteen minuets for his fat arsed brother to arrive. 

"What part of 'important!' don't you understand Mycroft," Sherlock hissed as soon as his brother made his pressence known. Sherlock took sight of him and knew instantly that he had not gotten much sleep again. "What symptoms does Lestrade have." Straight to the point and not allowing his brother to settle was Sherlock down to-a-T. 

 

 "At least take a seat Sherlock." Mycroft drolled, taking his own seat as he spoke. Sherlock refused and stuck to his impatient pacing, waving a hand for his brother to answer the question.  He heard Mycroft sigh sadly before opening his mouth for his reply. "A temperature which is now stable but still raised. He says he feels weak and is losing weight, he can't eat and he sleeps an awful lot." 

 

"Any hallucinations, panic attacks, fearful dreams?" Sherlock aksed impatiently once Mycroft paused. So far the symptoms where very much alike, but John had a worse feveor and still not of a stable state to mutter more than one word at a time. 

 

"Yes. Last night was the worst. So far it had been small things such as spiders and bats." 

 

Sherlock had stopped pacing now and stared at his brother, his face serious and set in stone. "Mycroft. You need to listen to me. i have never seen John so terrified since he was in Baskerville and was drugged along side the rest of us. While there we found that someone was trying to harvest the chemicals used in a past experiment called HOUND. The symptoms both John and Greg are producing is the exact same sympoms as those back at the plant. Of course there are added extras and the fact that is now hardly tracable in the blood stream, but now I know what I'm looking for I may be able to find it. I'll need a sample from Greg as well, to make it certain and we need to compile a list of people who would want to attack us at the heart. Because that's what this is Mycroft. It's an attack on us, hitting us where we are most vulnerable, even you should be able to see that now." Sherlock was staring at his brother, silently begging for his understanding, and that's all it took, that one look and Mycroft was nodding and making calls while Sherlock rushed off back to Baker Street in order to find out if he can locate the drug in John's system.

 

***

 

 **"Oh now you're just being an IMBOLCILE!"** The man screamed at the screens while he watched Sherlock lean over John, he had to turn up the speakers to actually hear what he was saying though, and what he heard had dissapointed him.  **"The great Sherlock Holmes, reduced to beging normal and BORING! Reduced to being BLIND! And here's me hoping you would at least make this FUN!"** Again the man growled, his eyes turning into slits as he watched Sherlock leave his flat and then lose him. He didn't have poeple on him at the moment, it seemed to him that Sherlock was falling for this, faster than he would have thought possible. 

 

 The phone rang, breaking him from his thoughts and he answered.  **"Oh my tiger, give me some joyess news,"** he purred, and pressed the phone against his ear as his faithful right hand tiger gave him confirmation.  **"A buyer you say? Well, set up an appointment for this afternoon and I'll make sure to have the proof ready by then. But do be aware to warn him that he is not aloud to touch the affected products."** And with that he hung up, his eyes watching two screens at once while the situation played out before him. John was no bother, he was still so very weak; had to give the nice hedghog a higher dose, he was so unpredictable. Now Greg on the other hand was putting up a fight which made him chuckle. Even so, in Greg's weakened state, he was no match for the four armed men that sedated him and carried him away on a hospital stretcher.  **"Let the games begin my dear Sherlock. And Mycroft; you fat imbocile, let's see how much power you really have."**

 

 The high pitched psychotic laugh of Jim Moriarty echoed throughout the building, sending shivers down this peoples' spines. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comments are welcome. 
> 
> It'll only be a short fic but will update as soon as possible. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for staying with me, you guys are awesome!! <3


	6. Intrusion/ PART 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's emotions are running riot and Mycroft provides a promise; but only if Sherlock manages to keep his feelings in check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part one (obviously) of two.
> 
> It's suppose to show why Mycroft is called the Ice Man most times and also trying to show that Sherlock really does have a heart.

_**Intrusion** _

Even as Sherlock left the office, Mycroft was on edge so it came as no shock to him when he heard Sherlock ranting off at his assistant. She uses so many names these days, he's not sure which one she's using now. With a sigh he gets up; _might as well sort the insufferable pratt out before she kicks his posh arse out of here,_ he thinks to himself, moving closer to his office door.

 

 "... Sweating and shaking. You're good but you are not that good and you've paled quite distinctivly, especially when you saw me leave my brother's office. now tell me; what are you hiding!?" Sherlock was in Mycroft's assstant's personal space, crowding her. Mycroft must admit that she's dealing with it rather well, but there is something she is hiding. Or is that fear she is trying to conceal? "Do you have anything to do with this!? Have you changed teams!?"

 

  _Ah. So Sherlock thinks someone is influtrating my work force?_   Mycroft can't help but give a soft snigger at that, watching as Sherlock's face is turned towards him; so full of rage and fear. "Everyone is checked regularly Sherlock; if someone is working against us on my own ground then they are idiots. Even if they have to be ..." He froze and looked at his assistant. He noticed at the corner of his eye that she stiffened as he spoke. She's terrified but not of himself but of something else. A quick glance at the servailance files tells him everything he needs to know and his heart hammers. "Where is he?" Mycroft is shocked at how calm he sounds but he knows that it would do no good to anger Sherlock more than he laready is.

 

"Room five, he'll be ready in fifteen minuets sir." She handed over the files and with a nod she rushed off and headed down the hall. Mycroft knew she was going to get the room ready for him. With a sigh Mycroft gestured to his little brother to return to his office, but he never lifted his eyes from the file he was flicking through.

 

 Rage boiled deep within him and he was a master at controling it, only letting it lose when he needed to and the individual in room five will feel the brunt force of Mycroft and maybe, just maybe, he'll understand why Mycroft was always called _'The Ice-Man'._

***

 Sherlock watched as 'Anthea' handed a file over and walked away. He was troubled and confused, which also scared him a little. He was about to head off for Baker Street when he bumped into her on the way out. She had stopped in her tracks, even if it was a slight pause it was still there and this woman never pauses unless she cannot give herself time to hide her feelings. She's just as good as himself and Mycroft but not that good.

 

 That was the first thing he noticed, and then when she looked behind him to Mycroft's office door, she began to shake and sweat as well as her colour drainging slightly. This all happened in the space of one second and just as quickly she managed to pull herself to gether ready to enter Mycroft's office. His quick thinking jumped onto the idea that she was shocked and scared that Sherlock was here, when he should be getting some medicine for John; _she's working on this!_ , he thought and then trapped her way, his eyes scanning her, furious.

 

 "Who you working for!? Why are you attacking him!? What did you do!?" He tried to keep calm, quiet and collected but his thoughts where running riot and John was so ill that he couldn't keep his voice down.

 

 "I have no idea what you are yelling about Mr Holmes, Junior." She kept her composure, even as Sherlock went into her personal space. He would have been impressed if he didn't feel sick to his stomach at the thought that one of his brother's most trusted companions was working against them both.

 

 "You saw me leave my brother's office and you paused!" He was rasing his voice now. "You weren't expecting me where you. You were thinking that I should be somewhere else! It's all in your eyes, in your walk and even in your stance right now. You are scared! You've attacked at teh heart and now you are scared because I've figured you out!"

 

 "I don't ..." She tried but was cut short by Sherlock's disbeleaving laughter. "You are Sweating and Shaking. You're good but you are not that good and you've paled quite distinctivly, especially when you saw me leave my brother's office. Now tell me; what are you hiding!? Do you have anything to do with this!? Have you changed teams!?"

 

 He was cut off by his brother and then watched the scene unfold before him, noticed the files that was handed over and the mention of room five. Not Anthea then. He was wrong but he didn't have time to focus on that. His feet walked into Mycrot's office without his say so, but again, he didn't focus on that. What was going through his mind was that he knew what the files where. They must be the images of the servailance that is on him in his flat, but if Mycroft had paled so much then it must also be servailance from his own flat; on Greg.

 

 When Mycroft followed him in, Sherlock was thinking the worst and did not even let Mycroft sit down when he opened his mouth. "What's happened? Why is there servailance in your hands Mycroft? No." He shot out of his chair and glared at his brother and pointed a finger towards him to silence any words that would have came from his brother's mouth. "Don't answer that! You've had servailance on 221B for a while and the only reason I dodn't bother ripping the cameras down this time is because John has been ill. There's also servailance in your home flat where you share with Greg and you have mentioned to a team memeber to keep an eye on both flats. But something has happened and it was not reported until Anthea went to the servailance team for a random check up. Someone on your team has been sending the images elsewhere and keeping us in the dark. Something has happened to John. What! Is! It!?" Sherlock was visibly shaking. He's never felt more emotional.

 

 "They've been taken. Both of them. I cannot trust anyone right now apart from Anthea so I need you calm and I need you to be .. Well, you" Mycroft placed the files on his desk and looked over at Sherlock. Sherlock for his part had never taken his eyes off of his brother. "John and Greg both need us, and it won't help if you cannot contain your emotions right now. Anthea will take you to the servalance room once she returns and I need you to find out if you can track the people who took our men. I want you to tell me the second you find out Sherlock. I don't want you to runn off on your own. Once you have a location, we'll get a team together of the people who we trust the most and then we set out to bring them home. The clean up crew will bring in everyone respoonsible and have them wait at the Hall. If you follow my rules Sherlock, you may join me in providing a statement."

 

 Sherlock listened to his brother carefully and nodded with a slight smirk. He understood exactly what the Hall was. He knew that it was their childhood home, the place where they grew up and because it was full of dark secretes, Mycroft had it converted into his own interrigation prison. Sometimes using it to make certain criminals disappear. Sherlock also knew that 'providing a statement' was just another way for Mycroft to show the criminal world what happens when someone tries to mess with him or even his little brother. Even if they were not as close as many brothers seem to be, they have their own ways of showing their brotherly love for each other. Even if Mycroft does it in such a way that annoys Sherlock sometimes.

 

 ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while but Uni's getting hecktic. Final year is the busiest ever.
> 
> Thank you all for you quiet patience.
> 
> More Kudos and readers!! :D I'm over the moon, I didn't expect it to be this popular, thank you guys so much. Here's another chapter just for you all while I have some free time.


	7. Intrusion/ PART 2/ The Interogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And THAT's why he's called the Ice-Man
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and Sherlock sees the biggest mistake a criminal can make.

_**The Interogation** _

Mycroft walks into room five with his umberella resting on his bare arm, his waist coat slung softly over his shoulder, but his face is a blank mask with cold, ice blue eyes. The man sitting in the wooden chair, his hands cffed to the arms and his face a bloody mess, looked up to his boss and his heart almost stopped there and then. No one understood why he was called the Ice-Man by people who were lucky enough to escape him, but it was clear to this man why. Those eyes. Those eyes that have hardley showed emotion while the boss was working; but if you were lucky you got to see a flash of something soft and gentle when his lover came by. But now, the eyes that bore down on him were nothing but cold. It was terrifying. So terrifying. The man in the chair couldn't take his eyes away from the ice-cold stare, no matter how much he wanted to. The female had a good left hook and done her damage, but the man in front of him now, umbrella and waist coat discarded, his body leaning towards himself, hands in tight fists against the table; it was clear that the man in the wooden chair would disappear. He swallowed hard and continued staring at the Ice-man, waiting for something to happen.

 

***

 

When Mycroft entered the interogation room, he made sure to show his anger. He has always been careful to produce the emotions he wanted to at the time, which was how it had become so easy for him to rid his face of every pull the muscles may instist of doing and only showing his emotions in his eyes. He knew what he was called by the people lucky enough to escape his wrath but he didn't care. He was going to this insect, this _bug_! Just what would always happen if someone would try to infiltrate his people, his grounds and his work. Although, he did see that Anthea had already given him a little of a warning but that is nothing compared to what he will do.

 

 He pushed his body forward, leaning against his fists against the table, and cataloguing eveything that he could about the man in front of him. Like Sherlock, he can see the little details about a person but he would not fire everything back at them like his baby brother, he doesn't use it as a defence against idiot people. Oh no. He only uses this stare against the people who have done him wrong, and the more the wrong is in Mycroft's eyes, the more intence and cold he will become.

 

 Right now, Myroft can see a loner, a pathetic man with no children but a doting girlfriend. And a mistress. Oh, make that a male lover also. Taken a sharp breath and returning his ice cold stare back to the man in front of him, he lets all his anger lash out. But not physically, never physically, no. He lets it out with words and the tone of his voice is so emotionless and flat that the man in the wooden chair shivers.

 "You have no children but you do have a girlfriend. Someone who dotes on you and worships the ground you walk on. But you don't love her at all. You have been seeing a male behind her back for months now. I would say it was about the same time you had turned on your government and committed treason. A treason so deep that I can barely begin to help you out. What I want from you is a full and very detailed explanation of what the plan is, who is behind it, why you turned against comforts and what the bloody fuck do you think it would achieve." Mycroft slammed his fist against the table, the only sign of his anger and frustration. He wanted Greg back as soon as it was possible but he also knew that he needed data. Everything this man would tell him could offer some form of help in bringing down whatever web has been weaved. And if this was indeed the work of Moriarty, then possibly, if this man spills everything, Mycroft may have potential evidence to bring in Moriarty and send out his secrete weapon to bring down the web. But first. Extracting the data.

***

He swallowed again as soon as the fist hit the table, his breathing hitched in a panick and he finally dragged his eyes away before he chuckled a little.

 "My Holmes. Is that all you have to offer? A few details and a cold stare?" He was finding his courage; a fools choice maybe, but if it gets Mycroft to hurry up and end it all then so be it.

"Oh, don't you worry Mr Blake. I will not dissapoint you. I'm only giving you your first and last chance to tell me everything you know before I show you exactly what happens when people take what is mine."

 

 The voice was so toneless, no emotion, no bite to it. Just completely plain and flat. That was the worst of it for Mr Blake, but he tried to hide everything and inforce some foolish pride.

 "Threats mean nothing Mycroft. You'll not get anything from me." Mr Blake may seem calm to anyone else, but he knew that Mycroft could see the sweat that was forming on his forhead, he knew Mycroft would see the tight grip he had against the chair and he knew Mycroft would see the sheer terror in his eyes.

 

 "Very well, have it your way." He saw Mycroft reach for his phone and fired off a text, all the while their eyes never broke apart from each other. Mr Blake was fearful and Mycroft's were an Icey storm, bringing out the fear in Mr Blake.

 

 Time didn't mean a thing; Mr blake had lost all sense of it when the lights came on behind what Mr Blake had thought was a mirror. When he turned he actually saw that it was plane glass, see through on both sides as well as being able to hear what was going on in the other room. What he saw there made him struggle, he was thrashing and writhing as he looked ahead and saw his girlfriend strapped to a chair with two males standing beside her and a table at the back of the room. Even though Mr Blake could not see the objects on the table he understood that it was a clear set up for torture. He may have a lover, but in his heart he knows that she doesn't deserve the pain that those men will inflinct on her. He's watched the torture process before and it sickened him. He can't think of what would happen to that sweet, innocent woman behind the glass.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mycroft nod to the men and he felt him grip his head tightly. Mycroft didn't show any emotion towards this as the men behind the glass both reached behind them and grabbed a scapple. One man returned and kneeled infront of Mr Blakes girlfriend and the other was now standing behind her. The one behind her began ripping away her shirt and bra while the other ripped away at her skirt and thing. She was now naked and presented to Mr Blake. He was petrified, no matter what he had done, she didn't deserve this. He was revolted when he saw the blade rest against the skin on her left breast and the man kneeling moved slightly so he could see the other blade resting at her cunt. He gagged and tensed, he could imagine what would happen.

 

 "I never do this but this is your last chance," still there was no emotion from the Ice-man. "Tell me everything or watch her suffer."

 

 "OK! OK!" He yelled, suddenly stopping in his struggles in Mycroft's grip and sagged with defeat. "I'll tell you everything I know, just don't hurt her."

 

"Good." He felt Mycroft move away and reguard the people in the other room. "You are all free to leave. Agent Mary, my sincere appologies."

 

Mr Blake was gob smacked and he looked at the three people, catching a gimps of Mary before she had left. Oh. He understood. They had an actress play a part, just to get him to spill. Well, ...

 

 "Don't even think it. If you do not tell me what I want to know, it _will_ be Miss Honey in that seat and I won't give you any more chances." That got Mr Blake opening his mouth, spilling everything he knew before he was whisked away to the Hall.

 

***

 

Sherlock had gone through futtage after footage, refusing to let his emotions get the better of him. He locked down everything and watched as John was carried from the house and into the back of a white van. He took note of the number plate and searched it through Mycroft's systems before watching the footage of Greg being placed in the back of an ambulance. It seemed that the nanny was shot dead and Sherlock couldn't help but be thankful that Mrs Hudson had taken a soother at that point and was completely out of it. It was a shame she wouldn't have heard anything, but at the same time she wouldn't have been hurt.

 

 After a while he found that the ambulance and the van where reguistered under one name, 'Richard Brooke'. It was filed that he used them as props for his stage acting and it was passed. They were his. Further digging found a storage and pulling up the CCTV from that area found both vehicals there. Sherlock scoffed and pulled out his phone to text Mycroft. If this was Moriarty then he has either made a stupid and idiodic mistake, or this is a trap. Or it could just be some other idiodic criminal with a grudge...

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be updating as soon as I have enough free time. It may not be for a few weeks yet but I do not want to keep you all in suspence for too long, so here is a little summary for the next chapter that I have in my head at the moment. I'm sorry I don't have enough time to get it posted up just yet xxx
> 
> Chapter name: Behind The Scenes
> 
> Summary: Both Greg and John are in a pickle and seem to be getting a little bit more sick as Moriarty shows his byers the true potential of the bio-weapon he has mastered. It is one way to get back at Big Brother for the containment and the curly haired dectective for his lack of interest. Jealousy is a much higher motavator.
> 
> The Tiger knows that all too well; he can't wait to sink his teeth into Sherlock's flesh.


	8. Behind The Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Greg and John are in a pickle and seem to be getting a little bit more sick as Moriarty shows his byers the true potential of the bio-weapon he has mastered. It is one way to get back at Big Brother for the containment and the curly haired dectective for his lack of interest. Jealousy is a much higher motavator.
> 
> The Tiger knows that all too well; he can't wait to sink his teeth into Sherlock's flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, one more chapter.   
> Sorry about the long delay, I've just been swamped with work and moving.

 

 

 

_** Behind The Scenes ** _

 

 

~~~~John felt like shite. He had never been worse before. He was sure at some point during teh day he was flying, or floating; or one of the two. One thing he could gather right at that moment was that he was in some deep shit. Not only did he feel so weak and shakey; he was also very aware. He knew he was not at Baker Street, he knew he was locked in a room with a two way mirror with Greg on the other side; who looked like John felt, which made John's fever addled brain produce a slight alarm; for John knew that they were both in trouble, but he also knew that Sherlock and Mycroft will stop at nothing to make sure they were returned unharmed. No matter how cold or hot, how sweaty or how shakey and no matter how many times he vomited; John's faith in the British Government and Detective never faulted.

 

\---

 

Greg felt like shite. He felt hot and sweaty, his vision was slightly blurred and he couldn't stop himself from dry-retching. It was not a pretty feeling, or sight for that matter. He was shivering but he felt so hot and he knew exactly what was going on; so far. He knew that John could see him, they both locked eyes for a second at the most before succuming to whatever sickness this was. Even it is was a sickness at all. Being aware of his surroundings and every ache and every dry heave; it sisn't sound like a sickness, no matter how much it felt like one. One thing was for sure in Greg's mind; whatever this was it wasn't good and they were both smack bang in the middle of some chemical warfare and Greg felt like they were the rats in the lab. Greg knew he and John were in trouble at that moment in time, and he hoped Mycroft and Sherlock would hurry up and get their arses here, he just wants his bed.

 

\---

 

Jim was watching the two pets with a gleeful smirk and with his Sebastian by his side.

 "How beautiful is revenge my dear?" Jim's glee wasn't hidden from his voice and he looked sideways to his own loyal, live-in human and actually waited or a reply.

 

 "I don't think I understand boss. This was supposed to be a selling point, was it not? where does revenge come into this?" Jim knew Sebastian had tried so hard to hide his own jealousy. But there was not much that anyone could hide from him. Jim understood that Sebastian did not like the attention he was giving to Sherlock and that was something of a motivator for himself; on top of his other excuses of course.

 

 Jim turned to face Sebastian full, his left hand resting against Sebastian's chin to make sure he kept eye contact. "You do know what it's like to have the attention of someone so interesting, on someone so dull. Don't pretend that you do not. I can see it in your eyes. You don't like the attention I am giving to dear old Sherlock, the same way I do not like the attention he gives to boring, tiny John. Imagine how Sherlock could be without the distractions of the toy soldier. And as for big brother; he locked me up and threw away the key. He needs to see what it's like when someone takes away almost everything from them." Jim winked and shrugged slightly, his thumb slightly stroking Sebastian's skin. "It was just teh need to seel our product that gave me the means for my revenge my dear. You will get yours soon enough. They'll be along with the minions shortly, we do not have much time. You know what to do."

 

 With a sharp nod from Sebastian, Jim forced him closer and crushed their lips together. It was full of emotions that Jim always kept for his tiger. He was saying so many things and Sebastian would understand every word, every feeling, every order and Jim loved that about him. Not that he would ever admit it out loud.

 Once they broke apart they went their seperate ways; Jim to begin a quick scale and Sebastian to his  toy ... His sniper-rifle. Jim smirked as he bagn his selling pitch, knowing that as soon as Sherlock stepped too close, his tiger will strike.

 

\---

 

John was feeling worse. He saw snakes surrounding him. He screamed. He backed away. He was terrified and he couldn't breath. Panic set in and pushing his already weakened heart to the limit. It won't end well for John and while snakes inched closer, John could only beg Sherlock, mentally, to _HURRY THE FUCK UP._

 

\---

Greg was not liking this at all. All he could see around him were spiders. He was scared. His breathing was coming in too quick. The spiders were not all that terrifying. It was the corspe they were feeding on. Even though he knew it was not real, that still didn't stop it from breaking his heart. he heard a scream. Maybe it was his own, maybe it was John, maybe he imagined it; he didn't know. All he knew was that thousands of spiders were crawling over Mycroft's dead body and he felt like he couldn't breath.

 

\---

 

Jim finished his selling pitch and was watching as both John and Greg went into panic mode. He allowed his buyers to watch and understand that the hearts will be already weak at this point and they wouldn't be able to last for too long with the attack of the fear induced chemicals. Jim was just about to produce a price when a shot was heard, not too far away, a body fell from the banaster to his left, and his eyes watched as the noticable figure of his tiger hurled to  the concreate floor of his hidden wearhouse with a crunch. The lights went out but that didn't matter. All Jim knew was that his tiger was gone and Sherlock was to blame. He let out a blood-thirsty howl before vanishing into the shadows, dodging every shot that was aimed at him.


	9. //INTERLUDE-NOTES-AUTHOR ... Thing//

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter list with summery

//I have not forgotten about this FanFic you guys, honestly. It's just that I'm trying to sort I few things out in my life at the moment and it's taken longer than I thought it would. 

I have placed this chapter in just to show that I'm thinking of this and I'm jotting down ideas at every free moment I have. It's not long now, just a few more days to a week before I can get the next chapter up. And as a thank you for your patience, have a chapter and summery list ;)//

9: The Rescue

Sherlock, Mycroft and co enter the warehouse to take back what is theirs. 

John and Greg get the treatment they needed five minuets ago. Is it too late?

Moriarty is found gripping to his fallen pet and he swears revenge as he watches his Tiger sucumb to his injuries. 

10: Escape and Revenge

John and Greg are still ill, Mycroft and Sherlock are worried and Moriarty escapes. Again and is thirsty for revenge.  
((Ideas from Reinbach. But IDEAS ONLY))

11: Out of the Darkness ...

Moriarty's final game. 

12: ... And into the Light

Epilogue with sexy times ;)


	10. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, Mycroft and co enter the warehouse to take back what is theirs.
> 
> John and Greg get the treatment they needed five minuets ago. Is it too late?
> 
> Moriarty is found gripping to his fallen pet and he swears revenge as he watches his Tiger sucumb to his injuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a little later than promised and I am very sorry ... Please enjoy
> 
> Kudos and comments are welcome.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has given me Kudos and those who are still with me in this.
> 
> You guys are all amazing and I am truly sorry for the late update.
> 
> I have no knowledge of London and this is my fanfic so ... London has lost fields/country sides now because I want it to :P 
> 
> xxx

****

****

**_The Rescue_ **

****

****

****

**  
**waiting for the back-up is something Sherlock hates with a vengence. It was the worst part of his job and he coulldn't wait any longer than he had to. Considering he was there for five minuets before he actually started to feel boared out of his mind. He was worried. John was in there and God only knew what he was being put through. Not that he believed in God anyway, but still, the saying sort of fitted in with the moment. He got out his phone and fired off a text to his too slow brother;

 

 

_Can't wait,_

_I'm going in. SH_

_  
_Sherlock never did wait for the reply. He stepped out of his hiding place, already got a plan of his own inside his head. He knew that the place would not be watched as heavily as it should have been. This was a trap after all. Something he had taken the liberaty of explaining to Mycroft and it was only because Greg was in there that he had agreed to take up Mycroft's stupid interfering minions. Help indeed!

 

The storagein front of him looked like nothing important; just some run down theature building in the deepest heart of the hidden London fields. It's quiet and miles away from the nearest busy road, no wonder the place was left to its own advances. Sherlock had thanked whatever diety is out there that the kidnapper had taken his man to this place, it gave him the oppertunity to climb an ouside fire escape to the roof to gain an entrance. Sherlock heard the soft engines of back up close by and he couldn't stop the smirk that filled his face, he would get to John and get him to the private hospital that Mycroft had set up. He just hoped that he wasn't too late.

 

***

 

Mycroft couldn't believe the stubberness of his baby brother and it angered him just a little. If he wasn't so worried about Greg at this point in time, he would have told Sherlock how reckless he thought he was being. But as it was; Mycroft was softened by  _sentiment._ Never in his life had he thought that he would become weak at the knees when locked in a gaze from another human. Never in his life did he think that enemies would find his weakest point and make the iceman melt. Mycoft had told Greg he was not capable enough for this, but the DI has surprised him more by digging his claws in and never giving up. So Mycroft wasn't going to give up on him. He was a few minuets out when Sherlcok had texted him and he fired off orders;

 

"Team Alpha take the ground, Beta takes the roof and the rest of you inside with me. Main objective is to get the targets out as quickly as possible. If anyone hurts them then it is on your heads! You lot understand me!" Mycroft had unsheathed his sword, hidden in his umbrella as he spoke, fire was in his eyes and every man andwoman under his command all nodded in agreement. Mycroft never went anywhere without the best, and he was sure that this would go his way. He just hoped Sherlock would realise who was really behind this before it was too late.

 

***

 

Once Sherlock had entered the building from the roof, he found that he was in an attick of sorts. Props and dummies were thrown haphazardly across the cramped space and Sherlock frowned slightly. Either Moriarty was slipping slightly or he was mocking Sherlock. 'Look at how good I am at hiding' was what Sherlock read in everthing he saw. But he didn't have time to lounge around and pick apart every piece of information that was screaming at him. 

 

 As quietly and quickly as he could, Sherlock was making his way down the attick and towards the garage storage. It was big enough and it was always the same. No matter how smart or how challenging Moriarty had been, he lacked all imagination. As far as Sherlock was concerned, Moriarty was the same as any other criminal. Always using the same storage for his buisness. When he did get his hands dirty that is.

 

He crept quietly along the balcony that ran across the space of the garage (it was more like a wearhouse, considering the size) and made sure that he had stuck to the shadows. He reached for the SIG that he had brought with him that day; anything of John's was a comfort to him in many ways. He was as used to these feelings as Mycroft was. But he didn't have the time to think about that right now, what he saw below him made his stomach twist in knots and he had felt sick.

 

 Below him, both Greg and John where locked in a single glass container each, with vents pumping that horrid gas into their systems. Not only had Sherlock fekt sick, he was beginning to feel so angry that he almost shot Moriarty and gave away his position. As it was, no matter how much he hated it, he had to wait. He watched as Moriarty sent of his most prized posestion to his position, promising revenge and love. Well, as much as Moriarty could love.

 

Sherlock smirked at what he saw then, he knew just how to ruin Moriarty without even touching him. He waited while the sniper was setting up and ignored everything that was going on around him. He had never shot anyone before, but his aim was gold. The sniper gasped and tumbled to the ground below; the noise that came out of Jim's mouth was a thousand Christmases all roled into that one day. He laughed and ran off into the shadows just as the place was filled with shots and screams. He needed to get to John. And Greg. Quickly.

 

***

 

Everything was a blur of pain and noise for both Greg and John. Their chests felt like they were on fire, their brathing was short and quick, sweat seeped from their skin as a fevor rocked their bodies. They needed the treatment five minuets ago and they were only getting it now! Mycroft could contain the rore of anger that left his throat and he went in search for Moriarty alone and left the two sick men at Sherlock's side while the paramedics administered what they could at that moment in time. 

 

 Jim was found curled around the broken body of a sniper and Mycroft couldn't stop himself from the kick that he sent to the side of his temple.

 "Take him away!" He growled as Moriarty fell nto an unconscious heep to the floor. "If he thought that last time was bad, just watch his face when Sherlock gets a look in on the games!" 

 The minons around him shivered and nodded, taken the lifeless body of Moriarty and extracting him from the building. 

 

"Sir?" A female voice soothed against Mycroft, calming his breathing if only a little. "They're stabalised and been rushed to the quarters. A car is waiting for you oustisde, but I must admit that we had to administrate a seditive for your brother. He wouldn't allow any help near them." Anthea actually had a flash of sorrow in her eyes before fiddling with her phone and leading the way to the car. 

 

***

 

That day was the longest both Holmes brothers had ever experianced. Each sitting by the bedside of their partners, never leaving their sides while they slipped in and out of painful conciousness. 


	11. Escape and Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Greg are still ill, Mycroft and Sherlock are worried and Moriarty escapes. Again and is thirsty for revenge. ((Ideas from Reinbach. But IDEAS ONLY))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the delay and apologies that it is only a short chapter for now, but I have a million and one things slammed onto my plate at the moment and I will try my best to get the final ones up as soon as possible. 
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read and for all the kudos. It has been amazing, you guys are awesome!!
> 
> Don't be afraid to comment ;) xxx

 

 

 

**_Escape and Revenge_ **

 

 

 

 

 

Mycroft had never left Gregory’s side at all. All of his work was either done via his mobile or via Anthea; who knew not to disturb her boss if it was not of Earth ending importance. Mycroft sight softly, holding his lover’s hand, whispering sweet nothings and ever enduring promising; anything in a hope that Greg would have woken up and stayed awake.

 

  
  
“You’ve given me reason to have sentiment, my dear Gregory. You have weakened my edges and softened my heart. You cannot just give up on me now. I will never forgive you if you gave up. That’s a promise my love.” My croft whispered softly, his hand held on tightly to his love, like an anchor that had kept him steady.

 

 

Sherlock had rushed in earlier, taken blood without a word from the two lifeless bodies; the only indication of the life that had filled them, was the steady rhythm of the heart monitors. Mycroft had not needed to ask, he didn’t even look at his younger sibling, for he knew what he would have found in those icy depths that were his eyes. All Mycroft could do was hope that his younger sibling would hurry up.

 

 

John and Gregory had been stabilised yes, but the concoction still ran through their blood which gave them night terrors, their hearts would race before the hospital solution steadied them once more. Mycroft had known that Sherlock searched for an antidote to have his friends and lover returned.

 

 

It was at that moment Mycroft received a text that had his heart beat rapidly and his blood ran cold as anger filled his veins.

 

**_Code Red. Subject 221_ **   
**_Has escaped. Moriarty_ **   
**_Is on the run._ **

***

When Sherlock returned to the hospital, having been forced to shower and change, he could not look at anyone and he refused to look at John. His John. He had never seen the man lay so still and so pale before and it had terrified him beyond reasoning. This was when he had came to the conclusion of working. He needed John back, and of course Greg by default. He had gathered the blood that he needed from both men and rushed back down to his lab.

 

 

HE never spoke, he never acknowledged his older brother; he couldn’t face the empty stare, the sympathetic smile and the terrified feeling of loneliness. As well as the gleam of ‘I told you so’ and ‘caring is not an advantage’. But Sherlock had known that it was not a weakness, not when it had given the Holmes’ brothers something worth fighting for.

 

 

Sherlock had took himself to the lab of St Barts, the one in which he knew as his own and made it straight for the equipment that Molly had set out earlier for him.

 

 

“Sherlock … I’m … I mean … If you need anything …” Molly stuttered, fidgeting with her hands as she watched Sherlock become absorbed in his task.

 

 

“I need quiet” He had snapped, never once looking up from the blood samples.

 

 

Molly had left then with a small squeak, but Sherlock hardly cared. If he hadn’t found the antidote in time, the two closest people to him would be lost to fear and he refused to let that happen.

 

 

He worked well into evening, analysing the blood, tested samples of anecdotes before coming across one that would work perfectly. It would cancel out every component of whatever Moriarty had fixated into his little chemistry trick and both men would be perfectly fine after a few days. Sherlock could not contain his excitement then and gave a loud noise of triumph as he set out make two anecdotes and slipped them into his pocket. It was then that his phone decided to alert him to a message.

 

 

_Number: Unknown._   
_I.O.U_   
_The roof, Midnight._   
_-M x_

That only meant one thing. Moriarty had escaped and waited for Sherlock. It took Sherlock all of three seconds to figure out what was owed and he smirked then. He would not let Moriarty take John away from him, and he certainly would not let him take himself away from John.

 

 

He checked his watched and realised he only had time to make it to the roof, he could not make it to his brother. Ah, but there was Molly. He rushed to her from the other end of the corridor, his face flushed and his eyes sparkled. Molly was shocked.

 

 

“Sher ..” She started.

 

 

“No time. Now, I need you to take these to Lestrade’s and John’s room. Give them to Mycroft, he’ll know what to do. And tell him,” Sherlock paused for a moment, and picked out the best line from their childhood games. A one in which Sherlock was stranded in a tree and Mycroft had to figure out how to save him. They had pretended it was a tall tower and the only way down was to fall, but the older brother had to solve the problem before that could happen. It was how they energised each other’s great problem solving skills. “Tell Mycroft, I’ve gone climbing.” At Molly’s confused look, he placed his hands to her shoulders, “He’ll understand, it helps me think.”

 

 

With that he had left and made his way to the roof, coming up with a million and one idea on how he would distract Moriarty long enough for Mycroft to solve the problem.

 

 

***

 

 

The air was cold on the roof and Sherlock had shivered as soon as he stepped out into the night air. He made his steps slow and precise and made his way carefully towards the music.

 

 

“Bee Gees? Really Moriarty? And here I was thinking that you had class. Taste.” Sherlock made his greeting, stopped only a short distance from the mad Irish man with his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

 

 

“Isn’t it boring Sherlock? Staying alive? It’s just … Staaaaaaaying.” Moriarty emphasised his final word by enlarging it as well as using his hand to emphasise his point. His face had also screwed up and Sherlock could read the man better than he had done before.

 

 

It was then that Sherlock understood. Moriarty wanted him to fall as his right hand man had. Boring. He figured out that when he saw the text. No. What really had interested Sherlock then, was the fact that Jim Moriarty was grieving. And he was so bored. A genius like that with no where to go but down.

 

 

“You’re wasted as a criminal. All that knowledge inside your head, and you can’t take the credit. It must be so dull knowing that no one can match up to you. No one can challenge you.” Sherlock used his stalling technique, not the best idea to prod and poke a mad man with nothing else to lose, but it was all he had then.

 

 

Jim jumped up and pocked his phone. Stepping towards Sherlock. His face was a mixed of pain and disappointment. “I take the credit of my work. I just don’t like getting my hands dirty. No one could get me you see. Until you idiotic brother captured me. Twice. Seriously, I hoped he would be a challenge. But knowing I escaped twice…. What does that say about him hm?” Jim all but whispered.

 

 

“He’s a fat slob and lazy. He won’t do the leg work, you should have known that, what with all the research you have on us.” Sherlock replied. They never once broke eye contact, both tried to out wit the other; Sherlock secretly hoped his brother would hurry the hell up!

 

 

“Exactly. He got you to do his dirty work.” Jim moved away then, walking around Sherlock, eyeing him up. “You were so good, solving all my puzzles, dancing for me. And then you had to go and be NORMAL!! And BORING!! And fall weak to SENTIMENT!! Never paying me any attention any more, dancing with the angles.” Jim pouted, the yelling actualy made Sherlock flinch softly, his thoughts drifting to John.

 

 

“Yes. Exactly. John.” Sherlock looked slightly shocked, he didn’t realise he spoke aloud and he watched Jim’s lips move. Maybe he miscalculated Jim’s overall plan? “Why do you think I gave him so much more. The detective was my way of getting back at your brother, but John? I can’t have some normal, boring and broken solder take my toy away.” Jim smirked and faced Sherlock again. “but you disappointed me. You broke my second favourite toy, my very own live in pet and for that you must pay. I owe you a fall Sherlock, and if you refuse … I’m sure the nurse that is on my pay roll will defiantly administer a deadly amount to both pets.”

 

 

Even though Sherlock had found the anecdote, there was no way it would save them from any more dosages of the stupid chemical weapon Moriarty had constructed. Where was Mycroft!? Why hadn’t he worked this out yet!? What the hell was he going to do now!?

 

 

There was nothing for it. Sherlock had made his way to the edge. The only way to save those he cared about. The only way. The only way.

 

 

‘I love you John H Watson.’ Sherlock thought as he took a deep breath, readying himself. Arms spread ride and one final breath … Sherlock had no other choice.


	12. Out Of The Darkness ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty's final game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long delay guys
> 
> Almost completed now xxx

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_**Out of the Darkness ...** _

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_"Look at you!" Jim snarled, making Sherlock hesitate if only for a second. which was all he needed really before he felt his pocket vibrate. "You've gone normal. I thought this would be a challnege! I thought you would at least fight me." Jim sounded a little too close, but still, Sherlock was thinking frantically.

 He turned his head slightly, enough so that it seemed that Jim had got Sherlock's attention. He then stepped down from the ledge, lowered his hands into his pockets. To Jim, this would look like Sherlock's attention was on the poison spilling from those devil lips; when in actual fact, Sherlock had slided a quick glance at his phone, the text and fired one back off, all through Jim's pathetic ramblings. 

 

 "He's made you human, boring, not worth my time. You're so weak. He controls your very movements and you are blind to see it." Jim's words slipped like poison from his tongue as Sherlock turned to face him.

 

 "You're right." Sherlock looked defeated when his eyes locked with Moriarty's. "Sentiment. It dooms us all." He gave a sigh and then stepped towards Jim, his eyes revealing nothing but his mind hurried along every possible outcome. He just hoped that Mycroft would hurry before the improbable became possible.

 

***

 

When Molly enetred the private room that had bedded both Gregory and Doctor Watson, Mycroft knew something was wrong. It was not until Molly relaid the (abscure, she thought) message and he had instaly ushered her out the room. He pulled his phone out and fired off texts, orders and quickly placed a plan in motion. But he needed time, in which he begged his little brother for. He hoped to reach him in time. Last time he was late solving a puzzle like this, Sherlock had fallen and broken his arm in three places. He was just a child and he had trusted Mycroft to save him. They never did manage to build a bridge over that.

 

 What felt like a lifetime to Mycroft, his phone buzzed. A three worded text, but he knew what it meant. 

_Moriarty pay nurse._

_  
_Mycroft rushed into action, gathering as much as he could on every nurse that worked in the hospital, and as much as he would have liked to get his hands on them, he would have to wait his turn. His brother needed him, his lover needed him and the gentle doctor needed him.

 

He quickly called Molly back then, shouted at the top of his lungs which caused the mouse of a woman to jump (she waited outside, talking to a doctor), and he instructed her to administer the dosage to the men in the room and to stay with them, not allowing nayone else but her into the room. It was impossible for her to be working for Moriarty, she seemed so fragile and completely besotted with his younger brother. Even though he had John. 

 

When the Ice-Man was certain that everything in the hospital was guarded and well covered, he returned to his mobile and barked orders down the line while rushing towards the stairs that led to the roof, a few men with big guns now following his lead.

 

***

 

**'How long has it been now? How long has his mouth been moving? What is he saying? Ah yes. My weakness. Boring! This is all he talks about. He sounds like a jilted lover. Always going on and on about my weakness for John, never mentioning his own.'**

**  
**Sherlock slipped away from his thoughts and managed to gain focus back on Jim, who had stopped speaking and looked rather flusted. Now it was Sherlock's turn to strike, no matter what had happened then, he knew he could drive an icle into Jim's heart and twist it. No matter what happened at the end of it, all areas had been covered. Either by himself or his brother. Sherlock hoped.

 "You go on about sentiment like it's poison Moriarty." Sherlock had fired then, his voice gentle but sharp all the same. "But you succummed to it yourself I believe." Sherlock nodded towards Jim's astoinded look, taking a step to the left, ensuring he was in Jim's only line of sight. "I can see it now, you're like an open book. The redness of the eyes, the jealousy at the fact that I still have my loyal soilder. What do you have Jim but a bag of bones?"

 

***

 

Mycroft arrived at the roof, busted through the door, just in time to hear the most outragous and alimalstic howl of pain that he had ever heard in his life. He knew then that it would be the sound that haunted his dreams, not the sight. 

 

 What he had saw then was Jim, haulting towards his brother at such a speed that is was over in a milli-second. But it had gine by so slowly. He stood by and watched as Jim caught his brother and lunged them both over the edge of the hospital roof. He was so shocked. He was sure that his heart had stopped in that second as he could only watch his brother fly from the edge, a mad man clinging onto him as they both vanished from view, Jim's cry still rang in his ears.

 

***

 

Molly gave a cry of fright when John sat bolt up right, covered in sweat and his eyes glazed over. It was not that motion that had terrified her to the core, but the way he had sounded when he yelled for Sherlock. So much pain, so much suffering and so much loss in one word. It broke her heart. 


	13. ... And Into The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue and sexy times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the delay of this but it is finally completed.   
> I would like to thank you all for remaining with this story and I hope you have enjoyed it. Thank you for the kudos and I apologise again for the lack of updating. XxxX

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_**.... And Into The Light** _

_**  
  
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_What Mycroft did not see when he was on the roof top, was that Sherlock had calculated this response. He had turned his body in the final second so that when he was thrown from over the edge, his hands had time to reach for a ledge that would prevent him from falling to his death. The jolt that was caused from such a split second decision had dislocated his right shoulder, causing him to scream in agony. Not only that but the jolt had dislodged Moriarty from his waist and was now grabbing on to Sherlock's right ankle, the extra weight making it even more difficult to hold on.

 

"Let go Sherly, it's the only way to end this," Moriarty scowled, even though he was breathless he still managed to sound like a crazy young child.

 

"You're insane!" Sherlock refused to turn back, forcing himself to grip tighter, even through the pain. 

 

"You're just getting that now?" Moriarty seemed quite confused at that, but still, he was trying to dislodge Sherlock from the ledge. He was gripping tighter, putting more pressure on the dislocated shoulder. It won't be long until the pain and the weight became too much and Sherlock was already slipping. There was no other choice. He had to do it.

 

He aimed his left foot to Moriarty's face and kicked him, effectively catching the man off guard and dislodging his grip. Sherlock managed to look down for only a second, watching his enemy take the fall and land quite awkwardly on the pavement below. 

 

At that point, Sherlock was sweating, trying to pull himself back up but his shoulder was refusing to cooperate. There was no way he could manage to get back onto the roof. Get to his John. _John._  


His fingers were slipping more, he couldn't hold out for a second longer. The only hope he had left was that Mycroft was the one he heard on the roof. 

 

"MYCROFT YOU FAT GIT!" He yelled. Pain and fear slipping into his tone of voice. He couldn't care. He wouldn't. He just needs to get to John.

 

***

 

Mycroft was just about to rush back down to the ground, just to make sure Sherlock had somehow managed to survive the fall when his brother's voice reached his ears. Pain and fear filling every syllable that tugged at Mycroft's frozen heart. He rushed to the edge just as Sherlock's grip gave up on him. He acted swiftly, catching his younger brother's left hand, causing a yell of pain from the younger man. The tight grip must have pulled his arm muscles, the right shoulder looked dislocated and the skin on the hands looked grazed.

 

Mycroft pushed his thoughts back and concentrated more on pulling his younger brother up. Mycroft's men turned up at that moment and help bring the younger Holmes safely back to the roof.

 

"You took your time. Diet not going well?" Even with the slight jibe, Sherlock's eyes shined with thanks, his voice filled with relief as he lay against the roof along side his brother, panting heavily and cradling his right arm again his chest.

 

Mycroft knew it would be the only type of gratitude he would get, so he replied in kind; "The solution worked. They're aware but not yet awake." He's own relief flooded through just then and he watched for a moment as Sherlock pushed himself up and rushed to be by John. Mycroft waited that moment longer before heading back inside, telling his staff to ensure that John and Greg now have their own private rooms.

 

***

 

It was three weeks later before John and Greg were deemed fit to go home. John was beside himself with boredom. He may work as a doctor but that does not mean he has to like remaining in the bed for days on end, with nothing but a grumbling detective by his bedside.

 

But now he was home, Moriarty was dead, and Sherlock had gotten rid of his sling days ago. Life was slowly returning to normal, so it was no surprise to him when Sherlock attacked his lips as soon a the door was closed behind them. John was pushed back against the door with his front full of a naked, and aroused detective.

 

He had to break the onslaught of lips and tongue, just to be able to breath. "So this is why you refused to meet me at the hospital today hm? Just so you can get yourself all worked up and ready for me?" John joked and teased, his hand moving round to Sherlock's backside. He was smirking, right up until his hand lingered on a foreign object, slotted in his boyfriend's arse. 

 

He raised a brow and shifted just so he could see, and then all the breath left him. He was staring at a butt plug, in Sherlock's pale and perfect arse. He couldn't breath. He was getting hard by the second now and he swallowed, his pupils blown wide when he faced a smirking Sherlock once more.

 

"Three weeks, maybe longer. I NEED this, I need you." Sherlock was speaking in his husky low voice, the one that always got straight to John's cock. And there it was. John was hard. John needed this. Fuck the rest what the hospital had declared, he was going to bugger Sherlock into the mattress.

 

"Bedroom." Was all John needed to say and he watched as his boyfriend made his way there. John followed, stripped along the way, freeing his aching erection.

 

In the bedroom, he was treated to Sherlock gripping at the headboard, resting on his knees and his arse on display. John took no time at all locating the lobe and slicked himself up as he went to position himself behind his lover.

 

"Perfect" he perred as he removed the plug, swallowed and sunk himself deep into his partner's tight heat.

 

They both moaned at the feeling, both have missed this and John knew there was no way he would last, and judging by the way Sherlock had tightened his grip against the headboard, he wouldn't last long either.

 

John took a grip of Sherlock's hips and began to move, smashing his prick against Sherlock's prostrate, just as he knows he loves. Moans and grunts and 'I love you's filled the room as John effectively fucked his life partner into the mattress.

 

It wasn't long before he felt Sherlock tense, shake then relax simultaneously as his orgasm shook through him, John sped up, his own washing over him just as quickly as Sherlock's.

 

With them both complete and well and truly fucked, John pulled out and grabbed Sherlock towards him. He was breathless and shaking, and so was Sherlock. John looked to him them and his world was complete, he didn't know if he could cope if Sherlock had fallen that day. He knew there and then that this was what he wanted for the rest f his life.

 

"Marry me" he blurted out once his breathing had calmed enough for him to speak. He locked eyes with Sherlock and grinned wide when he saw the love and delight in his eyes. No one could read Sherlock better than John, and he knew the answer before even hearing it.

 

"Obviously"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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